Blog Tour Extract: Your Guilty Secret - Rebecca Thornton

You know Lara King. 

The top billing of the showbiz pages, you've seen her every morning; over your breakfast, on your commute to work. You know everything about her; you've dissected her life. 

Her perfect relationship with film-star Matthew Raine. Her beautiful six-year-old daughter Ava. 

And so when a terrible incident shatters the family's carefully constructed facade, a media frenzy ensues. 

What happens when the perfect woman begins to unravel? When her whole life is really just a lie? One she will do anything she can to stop you from finding out?

This story is . . .

YOUR GUILTY SECRET. 

Your Guilty Secret - Rebecca Thornton

ISBN - 9781785760754

Publisher - Bonnier Zaffre

Find - Goodreads | Book Depository | Kindle UK |

Extract 

August 26th, 2018

1530hrs

What would you do if your child disappeared into thin air? I mean, what would you really do?

You might pound the pavements screaming their name, breath sour with fear. Air escapes you.

And when you get home, escorted by the police, you might fall into the arms of your husband or wife or a member of your family. Slamming your fists into their chests, your knees drop ping to the ground. Pleading. With who, you don't really know. And then with a renewed vigour and a sense of hope, you'd go out again. Back to where your child disappeared. You'd watch as the police knocked on surrounding doors and took witness notes and because you were there, in the action, you might feel you were doing something. Anything.

You might consider me for a minute when I tell you that my child has disappeared, yet despite the world's gaze on me, I have absolutely no control over where I look for her. I cannot open the front door to our home in The Hidden Hills. I cannot press the pattern of small, shiny gold buttons that remotely open the huge iron gates, with the hand-carved wooden sign on it. Los Palisades. I cannot use my thumbprint to access the extra security we had installed.

If I could, I might for a moment sweep my gaze across the lawns for any sign of her - my eye line darting in and around the uniformly cut grass, the luscious, rare rose blooms spilling down from the clean lines of our house - even though we were miles from where she disappeared. I'd still glance over to the pool - as I always did. A habit I'd been unable to relinquish from before she'd learned to swim. The clench of my stomach just until I reassured myself, two or three times over, that there was no small body, face down in the softly lapping turquoise water.

I would then race down our cobbled drive, lined with newly buffed cars. I'd curse the palm trees forcing me to weave my way around their silvery trunks. I'd ignore the burn of my lungs. The way my legs would barely be able to hold me up. I'd run, purely because I'd be incapable of driving. Or perhaps it would kick start my senses afresh. And I'd try and think back to where it had all started, my throat swollen with the catch of my breath.

I'd try and revisit that moment we'd left the house, water bottles under our arms. Me, in workout gear despite having no intention to exercise. Her in a navy sundress embroidered rabbits across the collar. Silver Superga trainers. Her face tilted up to mine, scrunched up against the sun.

“Treat day, she'd said. Can you believe it? Just you and me.'

I'd think about this as I tried to remember, left or right? Which way had I manoeuvred the car?

Had I thought about the paps as I normally did when we left the house? Had I planned my whole route along the back streets, where they might not be lurking, eyes scanning for my number plate? The way their lenses followed me, like snipers. Or had I just driven aimlessly, enjoying the day panning out ahead of us, with nothing to do. No one to see. Just me and my daughter. But I can't remember the ins and outs of my thoughts from this morning. If I had known what was going to happen, I'd have taken more care to engage with my inner monologue. To remember the way I'd felt a little impatient as Ava had kicked at the tyres of our car before she'd climbed into the back seat. The slight twist of her front tooth as it pushed its way through her gums. I'd have looked carefully at the way her body was formed. The soft roundness of her stomach. The fine, blonde hairs travel ling down her tanned arms.

But of course, I never thought that today would end up like this. I do, at other times. Think the worst. Catastrophise. But there was something so perfect about the way today had been panning out. Just me and her. A special treat. Ice cream. It was the first day in a long while I'd felt able to breathe.

That in itself should have been the first sign of things to come.

It was Detective Mcgraw who sat me down in the police station and told me that he was driving me straight home and that I had to stay indoors. Those green eyes of his, continuously locked onto one focal point a fraction above my right shoulder. White face, a fine tracing of freckles smudged across his top lip.

'I need to be out there though. Looking for her. She's my daughter. Please. There must be a way?'

'I know. And I'm sorry. We can't risk hampering the investigation. Thousands of people are out there, looking. And so we need you to stay inside your house.'

I knew he was right. That it was for the best. You see, I wanted you to be looking for her, without distraction. Surely I had learned by now – stay out of view in times of trouble. After all, a

wrongly placed smile, a casual lift of my eyebrow could set you off, and that's not what I need right now. I'm getting ahead of myself. I suppose I should tell you the things that happened less than six hours earlier. Just after we had pulled out of our drive, sun beating down through the windscreen.

I'll tell you as much as I can remember. The same details I told Detective Mcgraw in my oak-panelled study after he'd told me they'd taken my computer and mobile phone. We'd sat, me at my desk with my leather in-trays and stationery drawers all in straight lines in front of me. He was opposite me, in an ergonomic swivel chair that kept twisting from underneath him.

'I'd planned a special day out, I told him. "Just us. It's such... It was such a beautiful day, the words spill out my mouth.

'Any reason for the outing? An occasion, perhaps?'

'Yes. It was my way of saying thank you. For the way Ava behaved for the announcement. Did you see it?'

'I read about it.'

'She had been so good, I continued. 'So I told her that I'd take her out.'

And then what? We've pieced together as much as we can of your journey, mapping the CCTV footage. You hadn't pinned any of your locations on your public social media accounts. Any private ones we need to know about?'

'No.' ‘OK. If you could tell me what happened this morning, then?'

“At nine forty-five this morning we drove to Laurel Canyon. To go for a walk. On the way there, Ava grew tired. She lay down."

Extract: The Night I Met Father Christmas - Ben Miller

I've always been rather a fan of Ben Miller, don't ask me why... I was super intrigued when I heard he was a releasing a children's book, and a Christmas one at that, and super excited when an early reading copy arrived through my letterbox! It's a heart-warming tale of how Father Christmas came to be, with a nod to some Christmas classics, and at the centre of the story is essentially a retelling of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, but with elves.

Simon Kids UK have asked me to share an extract from the opening of The Night I Met Father Christmas so you can see how magical it is for yourself, and I do hope you'll pick up a copy of the finished hardback which is rather lovely!

The Night I Met Father Christmas - Ben Miller

Chapter One

When I was small, one of my friends said something really silly. He said that Father Christmas didn’t exist. ‘So where do all the Christmas presents come from?’ I asked him. He didn’t have an answer.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s just something my older sister told me.’

‘Who comes down the chimney and eats the mince pies and drinks the brandy?’ I asked. ‘Who rides the sleigh?’

My friend was silent for a while.

‘You know what?’ he said. ‘You’re right. I don’t know why I brought it up. Do you want to play marbles?’

That night, I had trouble getting to sleep. I had won the argument, but my friend had planted a tiny seed of doubt in my mind. What if Father Christmas wasn’t real?

As Christmas approached, I began to ask myself all sorts of worrying questions: who was Father Christmas? Why did he bring presents? How did he deliver them all in one night? How did it all start?

I made up my mind that there was only one way to find out the truth. I had to meet Father Christmas, face to face.

Of course, I didn’t tell anyone about my plan. My parents would have tried to stop me, and my twin sisters would have wanted to tag along, even though they were much too young.

This was a serious operation and I couldn’t risk it going wrong. Finally, Christmas Eve arrived, and my parents came up to kiss me goodnight. ‘Do you know what day it is tomorrow?’ asked my mother, her eyes twinkling. ‘Is it Wednesday?’ I asked, pretending not to care. She looked at my father, who shrugged. ‘Yes, darling,’ she said, trying to maintain an air of suspense. ‘It is Wednesday. But it’s also Christmas Day.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I’m not really that interested in Christmas.’ ‘Really?’ said my father. They both looked very disappointed, and for a very brief moment, I felt bad for tricking them. ‘It’s okay, I suppose,’ I said, ‘if you like presents and chocolate and sweets and things like that, but I prefer to work through a few maths problems while listening to classical music.’ And then I faked a big yawn and closed my eyes. ‘Whatever makes you happy, darling,’ said my mother, sounding worried. They kissed me goodnight, switched out the light, and went downstairs.

I lay there in the dark, with my eyes closed, listening. I could hear my sisters in their bedroom down the hall, talking in their own special made-up language, which only they could understand. Usually, when I heard them talking like that it made me feel a bit left out, but not tonight, because I knew that I was doing something very special.

Eventually, my sisters fell quiet and the house suddenly seemed very deep and dark. I could hear the low murmur of my parents talking downstairs, but soon that stopped too, and then the stairs creaked as they made their way up to bed. I knew they might look in on me, so I acted as if I was fast asleep.

‘Goodnight, little man,’ my father whispered, as he gently moved my head back on to the pillow and pulled the covers up to keep me warm. Then I smelled my mother’s perfume as she gave me a kiss. The door closed, and I heard their footsteps crossing the landing to their bedroom. I lay still, listening in the darkness.

After what felt like the longest time, I decided it was safe enough to half-open one eye. My bedside clock showed a quarter to twelve. I had never, ever been awake that late before, and I wondered for a moment if, when it struck midnight, I would be turned to stone, like a child in a fairy tale.

Don't forget to check out all the other fabulous blogs taking part in the tour for The Night I Met Father Christmas!